


prompt: Laughter

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laughter can be scary sometimes, just as you can find shelter in stolen cars and a breath of alcohol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prompt: Laughter

Never would you have thought that you would get lost. Running away didn't include that in your plans.   
But you had gotten lost. You musn't have been too far from your home, but everything was dark and the buildings were tall and the alleys were scary. You regretted your desicion, at least for a moment, you looked up and into the lit window of a house, and craved shelter.   
Right then, you heard a laugh. But not a cheery laugh, no: it was a raspy laugh that sounded like liquor and tobacco. And you saw the smoke before you saw him; the guy sitting on a plantpot right next to the corner. It was dark, you wouldn't have noticed him otherwise.   
He had his hood on. You couldn't see his features. Still, you heard his voice when he mockingly asked if you were lost.   
You would not let yourself be caught in danger by a random guy, so you said "no, and you?".   
He wasn't.   
But he got up, and the dim moonlight shone on his face: older, for sure, still with some aura of charm, or whatever was left of it. He held a cigarette with his lips, and let out small puffs of smoke each time he laughed.   
However, he did not look scary, at all. Just like someone who got lost long ago, but got used to it.   
His blonde hair was scruffy and messily cut above his ears, as if he had done it himself with a razor. He was pale yet a dark shade of pale, the darkest pale skin can be.   
From under the half-open zipper of his grey hoodie, you could see his neck, dirty, sweaty, tempting.   
"Are you lost or not? Do you need help or not?" he said.   
You weren't going to lie. He started walking, and you went behind him, trusting him inherently, and watching his hips move back and forth while walking, and his long legs find their way across the various cracks in the pavement no matter how shaky and drunk.   
You reached a dark alleyway and he stopped, looked around for anybody and hit a car window with his elbow.   
"What are you doing!?" your reaction was involuntary.   
He walked to you and held you from the waist, while roughly saying "shut up, I got this" quickly, as in a hurry. And it seems like he was, because even before the word died in his mouth, he had his lips pressed to yours, one hand on your back and one on your neck.   
You let yourself go. If you were going to be lost, then better lose yourself completely. You let him take initiative and part your lips with his tongue, seemingly eager, but you pushed the car door open and fell into the backseat, letting him fall on top. He smiled at your courage and kissed you again, opening the front buttons of your shirt and kissing down from your mouth to your lower lip alone to your chin to your neck to your chest and collarbones, and the crook of your shoulders.   
You held tight to his clothes, almost tearing it apart, and pushed his hoodie off to reveal a sleeveless white shirt which showed his thin yet defined arms, which you caressed, before burying your hands in the muscles of his back and scratching, and letting him bite and mark your skin at his pleasure. He had, after all, given you shelter.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp


End file.
